


Flowers of Rainy Nights

by Snowy_Rain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (but from another room and there’s a thunderstorm), Character Death, Harry Dies So Prettily, Imagery, Kinda fluff?, Kinda songfic but not too overdone, M/M, Pretty Descriptions, Serial Killer Tom Riddle, Symbolism, This is very sweet for a death fic, Tom Smokes, ’Put Your Head On My Shoulder’
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 09:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21195521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/pseuds/Snowy_Rain
Summary: The room is buried in pink, foggy grey and the aroma of blood-mixed smoke.—Harry bleeds out on the soft, cocooning bed. Tom savors the flavor of his death on a nearby seat.





	Flowers of Rainy Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a longer, near 1k thing but I felt this cuts off very nicely here. :33
> 
> I love this song very much so when I found the ‘but from another room/ but it’s raining’ versions I was mesmerized. And the comments under the video -which were, almost all of them, about being stabbed and left to die somewhere solitary while this song played somewhere near. 
> 
> Please get comfortable, smile softly, and enjoy the slow ride! :3

_ ‘Put your head on my shoulder…’  _

Through his green eyes, reflecting the dull magenta of the neon lights, Harry - with detached clarity - heard thunder grumble outside the room.

His killer -  _ a handsome man, with long and thick eyelashes, with eyes such a deep maroon  _ \- reclined back into his cushion, taking a deep drag of his cigar. 

_ It must be a menthol one,  _ Harry thought as he bled out on the soft bed. It smelled like a mixture of mint, fresh and chilly, yet with an unmistakable tone of sharp smoke. Somehow, the fragrance of vice fit the dreamy atmosphere of the attic, shaded with colors of soothing pink, somber grey and heady red.

The bed he was on was the very crime scene, a place of intimacy and affection - how ironic it was that it had been witness to this  _ thing - the sacrilege.  _

And  _ him,  _ the man who had flicked the knife on him, sang along to the dulcet lyrics. 

_ ‘Hold me in your arms-‘  _ Another drag of his cigarette. A rush of smoke, colored dark, smelling sweetly of flowers and cold breath.  _ ‘-baby…’ _

“I wonder when you’ll die,” he said to himself. Harry’s heart beat stood steady, placated by the cocktail of chemicals. 

And he didn’t reply - he just blinked once, letting a soft, quiet sigh escape him. 

He wanted to cry, but it was just so…

_ ‘Put your lips next to mine, dear…’ _

He suddenly -  _ without warning, without any build-up, leaving him breathless in his desire  _ \- wanted to  _ see him, wanted to look at him. _

He jerked once, a gush of blood trickling out of his thigh. The man looked over. From what Harry could see - which wasn’t much at all, but he  _ wanted to, so much  _ \- there was that telltale curiosity in his gaze, the same one he had seen when he introduced himself.

“Are they wearing off?” he asked Harry, completely coolheaded. “Ah, might as well savor it while I can.”

He stood up from his seat, and sat down on the bed next to his head, where he laid. Another thunder roared through the window, lightning buried the dimmed room in a brief flash of light.

_ ‘Won’t you kiss me once,’  _ Harry could hear from the other room, crooning so softly through the melody.  _ ‘Baby?’ _

“Your eyes are exquisite,” he whispered above him, out of Harry’s line of sight. 

His vision was getting blurrier. The pattern of rain was getting louder, the music in the other room smoother. And Tom, the man, leaned over him - lowered his head -  _ smiled so pink, so grey, so red, so rainy, thundering- _

_ ‘Just a kiss  _ ** _good night_ ** _ -‘  _ He descended on him.  _ ‘Maybe…’ _

“Your lips look soft,” he spoke again, aggravating the wound where he pressed down. Blood spilled between his fingers, welled up in the slit in his coat and leaked sideways onto the dull sheets.

And Tom breathed against him, held him so gently -  _ precious _ .  _ Adoring. Murderous. _

_ The lights were dimming. The night curled against his chest and caressed his eyelids, pushed flowers pink and dark inside his head, his ears, his heart. And pink, everywhere - dusty and glittering - swam around his eyes.  _

_ Tom weaved his fingers through Harry’s hair. All Harry could see was the blush of his lips, the sparkle of his irises. The soothing sound of his voice and the intense mish-mash of love, resentment and betrayal he felt. So sweet, so unbearably wonderful - so larger-than-life, so much he could cry yet  _ ** _couldn’t_ ** _ , he could not. He was frozen in happiness, in sluggish and dreamy placidity. _

And all the while, the song played, the rain fell in veils, and the thunder rang throughout the room-

_ ‘You and I will fall in love…’ _

_ The choir hummed, as if there were a smile on their lips, even though he couldn’t see. _

-the lights blacked out.

_ Heady pink. Soothing grey. Somber red. _

** _The end._ **

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda dream about being a popular writer but eh, a girl can dream

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rotten apples are the sweetest fruit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21356635) by [Baryshnikov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov)


End file.
